The Last Green Leaf
by Nieriel Raina
Summary: UFS: Immortal life is not granted to all, and death oft comes sooner than anticipated. But even in death, a legacy lives on. A look at the friendship of Aragorn and Legolas from the perspective of an unusual source - a dying oak tree.
1. Prologue The Oak

**Betas: Aearwen Thanks to Ignoblebard, Jael, Raksha and Moreth for their comments at the LC.**

**Part of the Undying Friendship Series.**

**Written for the A Long Expected Contest's October '08 'Dead and Dying Things' Challenge**

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**The Last Green Leaf**

**By Nieriel Raina**

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_**Prologue**_

**The Oak**

_**Ithilien**_

The oak stood for many a year, growing tall, sturdy and full of life. Birds nested among the many branches, singing and flitting among the leaves. Squirrels played on its limbs, chasing one another in a dance around the great trunk and among the roots peeking up through the ground. Lynx crouched on the boughs, hidden from the deer that gathered to eat the many acorns strewn upon the ground.

Spring brought a myriad of new green leaves and catkins, covering the tree in a magnificent dress; and the tree gloried in being alive, lifting itself to the sun. In the heat of summer, animals, and oft times Men, sought refuge in the shade of the grand oak; and before the darkness fled, evil creatures from the Shadowed Mountains also took shelter there. Autumn found the oak long arrayed in dark green before changing its attire to brown; for the oak kept itself clothed for the coming winter, unlike many other trees in the wood. Its dry leaves rustled and sang in the blustery wind and rain. And beneath many a winter moon, the tree lay sleeping under a blanket of white snow, its roots pushing deeper into the earth. Even in rest, life resounded within the tree, a steady hum of song that few could hear.

But immortal life is not granted to all things, and death for some comes sooner than anticipated. For the oak, it began when lightning struck the tree near the base, splitting part of the trunk and killing a good portion of the timber. With the bark burnt away, the tree became vulnerable. Beetles made swift work of the weakened places, boring holes into the smooth timber. Woodpeckers drilled holes into it, the rat-a-tat ringing throughout the forest as they sought out the bugs burrowed inside. A colony of ants moved in, making a nest. They carved criss-crossing tunnels in the fragile and decaying pulp, until, over time, the paths collapsed, leaving a significant hole.

The oak, now a mere shadow of its former splendor, became a new sort of home to many creatures. And though weakened — and while more branches and boughs succumbed to become dry, brittle sticks — the oak rejoiced in the life still reverberating within it.

Birds still nested in the thinning branches. Squirrels still played chase around the trunk. And in the small hollow, a family of dormice made its home, using claws and teeth, to smooth out more of the innards of the tree, and lining the opening with leaves and fur. And the oak was content with the life that yet flittered amid its branches.

Over the next few decades the hollowed oak became a home for other creatures, suffering from the damage of time and decay; its demise brought closer by the animals that made the oak their abode. Each rooted deeper, digging into the living center of the tree. The oak did its best to renew itself, but it could not replace all that had been lost. Its leaves grew sparser, dead limbs littered the ground near the trunk; and when the rains came, the oak groaned and creaked in the wind. But it never begrudged the creatures who lived in it; the lively beasts that sapped its life away. Indeed, it rejoiced with each new creature that brought a new song to the hum of life beating within it.

Seasons passed; and while a few animals sought temporary shelter in the deeply hollowed tree, none stayed over long. With the onset of Winter, the oak lay dormant, snow-covered and alone, longing for some creature to again make its home within the shell of bark and dying wood.

That Spring, only a single limb reached up to the sky with new green buds. The other branches creaked and squeaked, rattling and oft times falling to the ground in a strong wind.

Although Spring had come, an unseasonably late storm arrived one night, bringing with it driving snow that piled against the trunk and laden the oak's branches. While the warmth of the morning sun would banish the white blanket, during the dead of night, the wind howled, the temperature dropped, and the tree shook. Under a new moon, darkness reined with the stars blotted out by heavy clouds. The deep freeze robbed the life from the few leaf buds, leaving them frozen and stiff. No new leaves would spring forth with the new day.

And in the deep black of night, something crawled into the tree, curling up inside the hollow and using the old bedding of many long-dead animals to help keep warm. Though weak and only a skeleton of its former glory, the oak offered what comfort it could, sensing this creature was different from the others that had sought refuge in the hollow. And like the tree itself, the life curled inside the trunk faded with each beat of its heart. Death would come. But the oak took comfort that it would not die alone.

The wind died down, and the snow ceased to fall.

In the grey light of early dawn, the tree sensed another's approach. It came haltingly steadily, as if searching; its spirit speaking to the wood frantically seeking for something. Long had it been since the oak had felt such a touch, and what life left within it rejoiced and cried out. Questions rippled through the treetops among the oak's neighbors, and the tree groaned in response.

_Here! Here! He is here!

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**Author's Note: **A tree can stand for decades, despite being hollow or showing signs of rot. It can also suffer up to one-third loss of strength — equivalent to about seventy percent loss in total wood diameter inside the bark — provided there is no other defects than heart-rot.

**Thank you for reading. Reviews are strongly encouraged. :) This is something a bit different... the next part gets into Legolas's POV. **


	2. The Elf

**The Elf**

**_73 F. A., Ithilien_**

The elf slipped through a copse of trees, throwing his senses wide, seeking and searching for what he knew **_must _**be there. The trees of Ithilien responded to his pleas, their rustling whispers guided him on through the black night.

_Three days_.

Legolas pulled his cloak more firmly around himself. How could his friend be missing for so long? Legolas understood the king's need to escape his duties, even for a short time. But a hunting trip alone? When the wild boar were rutting?

_And without a spear!_

It had only been yesterday that Legolas received the news that Aragorn had failed to return to Emyn Arnen in the allotted time. A single day late did not give Faramir much cause for concern, not when it came to a man of Aragorn's experience in the wilds. But by late afternoon of the second day, Faramir began sending out search parties – and a request to the elves of Ithilien to aid the search — asking their lord in particular to join the hunt for the missing King of Gondor.

For over a day Legolas had sought for his friend, but the king had not yet been discovered. The trees would alert him if that happened; but no ripples of joy moved the air — only waves of concern. The trees were anxious and urged him onwards over a small rise.

_Just a little further. _

Legolas quickened his pace, his feet running lightly over the surface of the snow, following the groaning of the forest.

_There._

Before him loomed an old oak, its gnarled, dead branches dry and brittle. Yet the oak summoned him, for a thread of life remained in a single limb quivering in the still night.

The tree's condition grieved Legolas as he ran to it. He laid a hand on the decaying bar, sending comfort and thanks to the tree even as he found the large opening to the hollow. Fear at what he might find wrapped its cold arms around him, and he felt the tree try to comfort him. He could see something curled up inside the space, and reached in, his fingers touching soft cloth and worn leather.

"Estel?"

Silence.

"Aragorn!" No movement or sign of life came from within the hollow. Frantic, Legolas reached further in and shook the man until, to his relief, a low murmur resonated from within the oak.

Stooping down, Legolas crawled into the hollow tree with his friend, singing softly to himself as he checked Aragorn for injuries. It was not until he ran his hand down the right leg that he found a thick bandage just above the greatly swollen knee. As he prodded, Aragorn moaned and shifted. "Easy, Estel. I have you." Legolas found the man's shoulder with one hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You're going to be all right."

Standing, Legolas threw his senses wide again, calling to the trees, sending word that the king had been found and a plea for help to come. The trees around him began to rustle and sway, their leaves whispering the news on through the wood.

After building a small fire outside the hollow and setting some snow in a pot to melt, Legolas moved his friend to lie beside it on his cloak. With slow, meticulous care, he cleaned the wound he found: a gore from a wild boar. The beast must have been huge judging from the size of the gash in Aragorn's leg. Legolas was amazed that the leg had not been broken, then winced as he looked at the hot, swollen knee. Once he had cleaned the wound, he wrapped the knee to keep it from excessive movement until a qualified healer could ascertain the extent of the injury. This far afield, alone with such an injury and with such unusual weather… Legolas shivered. Aragorn had been lucky to find the hollow oak. Without a doubt, the shelter had saved his life.

A creaking drew Legolas's attention up to the dead branches above. He stood, stretching his limbs to the morning sun. His gaze lingered on a single branch – the only one with buds. Those he feared had not survived the cold.

Casting a quick glance at Aragorn, who now slept comfortably, Legolas moved to the trunk of the tree, feeling and testing the dead wood. He climbed up among the dead branches until he reached the one limb still showing signs of life. He straddled it, sadly, touching the dead buds. "The cold has been too much, my friend."

The oak groaned in agreement. It was weary, and accepted its time had come. Legolas sighed. The tree should have lived many more years before succumbing to this slow decay of death. And yet, looking closely at the trunk in the early morning light, he noted the oak had in all probability lived longer than it should have so crippled by decay.

The oak would soon die.

Legolas felt the last thread of life pulse in the tree. He felt its joy at being alive — its joy at having an elf among its branches — and a tear slipped down his cheek. There was something special about this tree. This one had loved life, loved the wood and everything in it. It deserved more than to just be left to rot. He ran a hand lovingly over the rough bark of the bough. "Thank you for your care of my friend. I feared for him. But now… Now, I think he will recover."

Stepping down to another branch, Legolas leaned his forehead against the live bough. "I fear the last Greenleaf has graced your proud boughs."

He began to sing: a song of life, of earth and seasons, of sun and wind, of stars and rain. When the last notes of his song ended, he sat among the dead branches, listening. But the life had slowly ebbed away as he sang, till no pulse or thread of it existed.

The oak had died. But it had not died alone.

"I'll return," he promised the tree. There was no answer.


	3. The Man

**The Man**

Aragorn walked with a pronounced limp as he traversed through the wood. It seemed his body did not heal quite like it used to back when he had wandered the wilds of the world. A lock of hair fell over his brow. As he moved his hand to brush it back, Aragorn noted the silvery grey streaking the once black strands and grinned to himself. He supposed he was getting old, though he still felt quite young inside. Too old to hunt alone, or so Eldarion insisted. Since his son had had reached the age of fifty, he had gotten strange notions of what the king could and could not do. After the incident with the boar back in the Spring, Aragorn conceded that Eldarion's thoughts of having a hunting lodge built for the family would give him a much better way of taking his leisure than tramping about the woods alone. The long recuperation from his injury had been enough for him to accept that his son was correct.

Many weeks had passed since that notorious hunting trip, which could have ended tragically if not for Legolas.

Aragorn smiled as the sound of elven song reached his ears. He halted a moment, his hand automatically reaching down to rub his sore knee as he listened to the lovely sound of the voices harmonizing with wind. Then he resumed walking, quickening his pace to catch up with Saelon, his guide.

A faint odor reached him, and he sniffed at the air. It was not the most pleasant smell, but neither was it offensive. The sound of mallets and saws complemented the song filling the cool Autumn air, causing Aragorn to feel alive and free.

"Just a little further," Saelon commented without turning back to look at him.

"Lead on," Aragorn said, stepping over a broken limb.

A few minutes later, they could see many elves singing and moving about at work. At first, Aragorn had no idea what he was seeing, then slowly, it dawned on him.

_The tree. _

The oak that had saved his life had been cut down several feet above the opening to the hollow Aragorn had slept in a couple months ago. The trunk was now covered with a platform of some sort, built of planks shaped and fitted together. The smell, much stronger here, came from a bubbling cauldron over a cheery fire, being stirred by an elf Aragorn recognized, but whose name escaped him. Others came to dip buckets into the goopy mix, before taking it to the tree and brushing it on the tree and platform.

"Preservative," Saelon told him. "To keep the tree from decaying further." He gestured towards a familiar figure standing with his back to them, then moved off to join in the work.

The tall, golden form of Legolas stood watching the work. His arms were crossed against his chest, his clothing a mess. Clearly, the lord did not hesitate to get his hands dirty alongside his people. Aragorn loved his friend for it, as did the elves of Ithilien, who had sworn allegiance to the son of Thranduil.

Legolas must have sensed him, for he turned with a smile. "Come," he called over the singing and rapping of mallets and saws.

Aragorn walked closer, wondering what Legolas could possibly have in mind for such a place. "What are you making?" He pushed back a lock of hair that had come loose from his braid. "Better yet, _**why**_are you making it?"

Legolas grinned at him. "You said you needed a retreat in Ithilien, did you not?"

Aragorn glanced back at the hole in the tree covered with the strange roof. He pointed at it and said adamantly, "I am _**not**_staying in that again."

Legolas threw him a hurt glance. "I would not expect you to!"

Aragorn blinked. "Then what…" He paused. "Legolas what are you up to?"

The elf threw back his head and laughed, the merry sound eliciting many birds to chirp back at him. He placed a hand over his belly, chuckling and then pointed at Aragorn. "You should have seen your face!"

Aragorn narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Legolas," he said in a warning tone.

"All right," Legolas relented. He waved to Saelon and motioned for the elf to do something, then pulled Aragorn through the trees to a clearing. On a rise, stakes had been driven into the ground, marking the site of a new building. "There shall be your retreat. Once Gimli arrives, the dwarves will join our efforts and build you a fine hunting lodge of both wood and stone." He motioned with his head over his shoulder, "Back there shall be your kennel and falconry."

"The tree?"

Legolas nodded. "The oak loved this wood, Estel. It wanted only to be alive and to give shelter to those in need. Now that it has returned its spirit to the world, I thought it should be preserved. We are using all the wood we can from the tree itself to build the falconry above the hollow. The hollow itself will serve as one of the shelters for the hounds. We're building more."

"An unusual set up."

"It will work," Legolas reassured him with a smile. "I'll make it work."

Aragorn grinned. "I'm sure you will."

"And I'll call it Dorombar," Legolas said as he walked back down the path towards the work.

"I don't get to name my own hunting lodge?" Aragorn called after him.

"No."

He grinned again, not minding in the least.

Dorombar – Sindarin. 'Oak Home'


	4. Epilogue The Legend

_**Epilogue**_

**The Legend**

_**734 F.A., Ithilien**_

The oak stood for many a year, growing tall, sturdy and full of life. Birds nested among the many branches, singing and flitting among the leaves. Squirrels played on its limbs, chasing one another in a dance around the great trunk and among the roots peeking up through the ground. And an acorn's throw away, a small girl stooped and peered into the unusual remains of a hollowed tree.

"Idril!" a woman's voice called frantically in the distance. "IDRIL? Where are you?"

"Here, Nana!" The girl called before crawling into the tree, giggling.

"Arathorn! I found her! She's over here! Idril? Keep talking, love. I'm coming to you."

The girl continued to call, poking her head out then retreating to her hiding place. And all the while the oak stood tall not far away, its branches rustling with excitement at the sounds of others moving through the bracken.

Finally, someone had come. The oak could hear them, feel them, and sense the connection as they drew closer.

A woman broke through from the underbrush into a clearing, followed by a man. Both of them paused, looking in awe at the ruin before them. The stone structure stood on top of a rise, its walls overgrown with ivy.

"What is this place?" Finduilas asked, her eyes scanning the building for some sign of her daughter.

"The King's Lodge," Arathorn murmured, his voice full of awe. "I thought it was a myth."

"Naneth?"

The woman turned in the direction of her daughter's voice, to peer down what once must have been a path, but was now terribly overgrown.

"Nana? Come see!"

Finduilas huffed and lifted her skirts, preparing to rush after her child. Arathorn surprised her by taking her elbow in his hand. "Slow down, love. She'll be fine."

"Ha! You don't know how much trouble that child can get into!"

He grinned and led her to the path, if it could be called a path. They did not walk far when the came upon another strange structure.

A stone wall surrounded several low buildings. Steps led to a bridge over the wall and up to an unusual structure that appeared to be a hollow tree trunk, chopped off, with a platform and a dilapidated wooden building atop it. Finduilas glanced at her husband at a loss as to what she was seeing.

"A kennel, and falconry perhaps," Arathorn noted, pointing to the remains of some other small buildings. "Quite an unusual set up." He brushed back a lock of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead. "But I suppose it worked." Flashing her a grin, he took a few quick strides to the wall and bounded over it.

"Arathorn! What are you up to?"

"I'm just looking around. This place is in remarkable condition, considering its age! It could be easily restored and put back into use."

"You want a hunting lodge?"

He leaned against the wall, and nodded. "But not just any hunting lodge. Do you not know what this place is, love? Who it belonged to?"

Finduilas shook her head. She had never been one to study up on lore or history. That was the love of her husband. She looked at the structure as objectively as she could, trying to judge the age of the buildings and running in her mind over what she know of Ithilien's history. "Could it have belonged to Elboron II, do you think?"

Arathorn shook his head. "Older." His eyes shone with a rare light. "Much older."

She gasped. "Surely you don't mean…"

He nodded again, the light growing in his gaze. "I do. It's Dorombar." He looked over at the strange tree building. From the hollowed bottom, a small face peered out at him, grinning then disappearing back into the darkness with a giggle. "And that is the old oak."

Finduilas had no idea what he was talking about. But it might be nice for her husband to have a lodge in the wood – a lovely if remote place to retreat from Minas Anor with the duties of king became overwhelming. Seeing her daughter was safe (or so she hoped as she eyed the dilapidated building over the hollow), Finduilas walked around the stone wall and looked up at a huge oak nearby. One thick branch would be perfect for hanging a swing.

She glanced again at Idril, who had crawled out of the tree and now played with some leaves and stones; then Finduilas placed a hand on the slight swell of her belly. She looked back at her husband, but he had moved to wander the kennel yard.

She smiled. Let him restore the place. He loved history so. Finally, he would get a chance to preserve a piece of his ancestor's past.

She glanced back in the direction of the lodge. _I wonder how many rooms it has… _Picking a green oak leaf from a nearby branch, she twirled it between her fingers and smiled. A single acorn dropped to her feet, and she stooped and picked it up, placing it in the pocket of her walking dress.

Above her the branches of the mighty oak swayed, the leaves rustling almost as in song. And Finduilas gasped as she realized not a breath of wind stirred the forest around her.

_end_


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